Pegulis, Chapter 3

[Wanderfool]

Tavark Stables

Milah froze once she shoved the carcass from her body, kneeling beside a tree as the three encroached strangers onto her land. Their intimidation just as tangible as the fear that her poor Nola felt, however Milah was smarter than to show concern for the girl. She was no hero. She was a survivor and well off horse breeder on the edge of Tavark. Steadying her breathing as the ring leader went on with his brutish rants of sexual malignancy, she slowly stood up against the burn of the cut on her thigh that now freely weeped scarlet. Backing up slowly as she eyed the man holding the crossbow, they weren't fools either as they stayed still and at a distance. Her heels hit the smaller bear's body when she stopped, her fingers twitching around the bow at her shoulder. Did they not realize she was out of arrows? Even if they hadn't, they would soon. There was a moment of silence as she held onto the bow, them waiting for her to drop it and her measuring how much time she had to come up with something.

The wiry one was becoming impatient, and she could see his primal needs burning to be fulfilled in his coal black eyes. This was the true nature of scum. Ssirm's angry braying could be heard as he kicked at his stall door repetitively, how Milah knew? She had raised each of those horses since they were fouls and Ssirm was her own. "I do see what you mean, and you look like such a lively lot." Milah's voice was a soprano pur as she tried to egg whatever feminine charm she could muster. "But I am regretted to say that I remain uninterested." Keeping her eyes trained on the ring leader, she deftly reached behind her and in a smooth transition she knocked the arrow, originally buried into the bear's leg, on her bow and sent it flying into Nola's heart. Milah would not allow them the satisfaction of making the poor girl suffer. Milah turned away from the sight of the poor girl's body jerking, her sobs choked silent, and the blood pouring from the arrow tainted with the bear's.

Wasting no time of her distraction, She bolted behind a tree as a bolt flew past her sending bark flying. Wincing from the very unpleasant pain in her leg, Milah pushed against the tree and sprinted across the field. Siellruk galloped past her and reared, his neigh loud and terrifying. He would serve as the second distraction that would get Milah to the stable doors. Breathless, Milah heaved the doors open and slipped inside before she shut them again. Taking a breath and wiping dried blood and tears from her vision she immediately went to work. The bear was no where to be seen and the stable stank of death and decay as the horses carcasses were beginning to decompose. Struggling a few times, Milah unlatched every horse stall before she reached Ssirm's. Climbing atop her beloved Stallion, she kissed his neck and patted his neck. The gesture soothing him and moving him to focus all at once.

As she sat atop her own horse looking at all the startled beasts move about, she felt her heart breaking. Never would she have thought today would be the day she would be forced to set her livelihood free, and kill her own apprentice to save her from rape and possibly murder. Without an order, Ssirm felt his mistress' desire to move forward behind the startled stampede. "This is it, Ssirm."

 

[unanun]

Barvelle, teal

The look of disappointment Arktus had given Ethelwen was merely a teacher's ploy. It was always good practice to let the weight of the initial teachings sink in before proceeding.

Ethelwen was part of the new generation of Sunne. When Arktus was a child, before the Archon had found his tribe, he was a miracle. A wonder child, who could crystallize a clear aux and wield the spells that their family had orally passed down. Generations of inbreeding and family tree mismanagement had diluted their bloodline, producing weaker and sometimes deformed children. But the Archon saved them, opening routes for the scattered Northern tribes to mingle their bloodlines, revitalizing their Magiks. The new children grew up in a world were spell morality was lax, where the iron-clad clues rusted away due to lack of use. They would have to instructed carefully ...

Arktus moved through Barvelle's tunnels. Medwick's caravan had returned. A convoy had arrived from Aldus with no warning. What was going on?

He approached the area where the visitors were housed, laid out on beds of animal fur and fed scalding vegetable broth.

"What is the meaning of the sudden visit, Ilsa?" His form hovered over her.

Her confusion was palpable.

"Have you not received .. a l-letter .. ?"

His eyes widened in shock. Something caught the edge of his eye. He had to distract himself from the implication.

"That man is suffering from bone-freeze!" He pointed at Vrein. "Slap him to wakefulness immediately!"

The caravan from Aldus had to have been interrupted. Half of them looked half-dead. Tavark had sent no word. The storm. Every major city in Pegulis was isolated from each other. Arktus stepped back from the cot, sleeved hand covering his mouth. Puzzle pieces fell into place.

"Tavark."

"HE MUST BE RECALLED." He said this to no one in particular.

 

[Wolfsin]

Barvelle

Wolfsin-Ethelwyn

Outside the Archons Chambers~


Wolfsin had almost been too distracted in his damned glory days, that he nearly missed the lithe looking cat anima that had approached. Only not too long ago he had allowed another to enter the room of the Archon, he hadn't seemed to be a trouble maker, and of course the man was stripped of weapons and anything he could use to harm her. Wolfsin wasn't about to take any chances with the job, even if it was boring.

The Anima, he recognized, it had been the one given the duty of writing out a roster, documents and such for the Archon. At that point the little Anima had appeared harmless, but who could know? A great many people were to be arriving shortly, he had over heard talk about that while on duty, and that only made him have to remain on guard even more. The anima was crouched now, peering sneaky eyes glancing back to make sure that the guards were no longer looking, but he had no idea that Wolfsin would be around the corner watching by means of a shard of glass reflecting the scene...

"A little curious are we?"

His gruff voice billowed out and soon came a bit of laughter as he turned the corner and crossed his arms before the Anima. "Your name, and business with the lady Eirene, i think that I know you but im sure you can respect policy and such." Wolfsin held out his hand waiting for the anima to hand him some document stating his appointment, something to justify him coming here.. After all he seemed like a nice kitty, and if Wolf could avoid it... redoing the paint job... on the walls of the hall way.. didn't seem like a very enjoyable task, nor did blood red fit the setting of the place... "I don't want to hurt you if I don't have to but with all the recent visitors I have to ask these things... its quite possible .....aghkkk...

Wolfsin started to curl into a ball, his stomach clenched tight as he spit up a bit of blood to stain the floor... "damnit... its not even time yet...." he growled under his breath and tried to straighten out, to even his breathing... His body was on fire, but he couldn't leave his post... his antidote, the vial was in his own granted quarters across the way...

Soon enough he was on his knees spitting more and more crimson upon the floor... "ii... if.. you...aghkk.. if you are good... please ....aghhh! Please go to the room down the hall and to the right..... get... ugh.. vial of red...please.." His words were becoming too hard, he had to rely on this stranger, thankfully the time was not yet but it would be tonight... he had to get control over this.. and right now part of that fate was in this Anima's hands....

"...pl..please...."

 

[Forgotten Hero]

Jalidin - Barvelle

Jalidin sat at his usual place by the hearth in the tavern he was staying at. He hadn't been in Barvelle long before he heard all gossip and rumors that were going around. He expected to be some truth salted with all the tales he been hearing. The hard part was to decipher fact from fiction. Rayne just fluttered around him as he started to read a piece of parchment stating how Pegulis was threatened and that the Archon needed our serivce and for every willing participant should seek out General Coul. It made him think that much more on the stories he was hearing.

Only earlier that day he heard of the caravan from Aldus heading here to Barvell was attacked and almost everyone from it was now dead or seriously injured. He flipped over the parchment and pulled out his charcoal pencil and started sketching without even thinking of what he was drawing. After a few moments he was done. He picked up the drawing and realized he had drawn his old friend, Jules. A small chuckled escaped him, it had been awhile since he last saw her. They grew up together and shared a lot of interests. They used to say they was going to travel Sunne together but other things came up and they went their separate ways. But now it seemed their paths might align again. He folded the paper and stuffed it into his cloak.

Rayne was now floating in front of him glowing a bright golden color giving him a gleeful look. Apparently she was paying more attention than he had thought. She loved Jules and he often wondered if she should have been her Aux instead of his. He eventually shook his head. "Well, let's go while it's still early."

He was actually feeling nervous has he knocked on her door. He wondered if she changed any he knew he had. Would she even recognize me now? He asked himself. Perhaps he should have shaved his beard was getting thick now.

 

[Noctis the Devious]

Tavark

Amara barely acknowledged when Ture mentioned the Barvelle maps and continued to look around with morbid curiosity and a hint of fear, following after the two without much of a choice. It was like a dream gone awry. Everywhere she looked there were Tavarkians but it didn't take a wise one to know something was horribly wrong. What kind of sick joke is this? The men that were sent away on some extravagant journey of untold power, the men they wished for a safe return only for years to pass without a word, were the same men plundering them blind! A whole range of emotions frittered through her from fear and confusion, to bitterness, to panic. Where was her mother in all this? Was she all right? Was she safe? And then anger. Why, of all the times they needed him, why wasn't her father here to protect them? To protect his child and most importantly his wife?!

Her muscles coiled and tears pricked at her eyes, hands clenched in tight fists and knuckles pale from the strain. This wasn't fair! This wasn't right. As if to rub salt in open wounds, one man in particular dared to stroll passed her, dared to glance at her, and wore a smirk so smug it made her stomach churn and anger flair that much more all at once. It was only for a moment but time might as well have stood still while the man in black and the huntress of Tavark made eye contact. Memories of what seemed ages ago flooded her mind and between the kindness and silliness of the man she knew him as and the cold bastard she saw at the moment, she snapped. She was barely even aware she had lounged for him and it was a thick arm and the smell of the sea that brought her to the realization. Something harsh was shot at her when she was thrown backwards and into the Guild master, but whatever it was fell on deaf ears, her focus solely on the half turned figure now laughing at the pathetic attempt of an attack. "Hey, Amara, be a dear and send my regards to your parents, yeah?"

She saw red. The fact she still had her weapons wasn't beyond her. If anything she was hypersensitive to the fact her tomahawk was still belted to her left hip, her hunting knife on her right, and strapped across her back was quiver full of arrows. Oh how easy it'd be to reach for her tomahawk and send it cartwheeling through the air and watch it embed itself in the skull of the person she once called a friend. How easy it'd be to grab her bow or go after him with her knife. If it weren't for the fact she was simple huntress and not a murderer, she probably would have attempted to go after him again. "Hey! I said move it!" She was roughly shoved forward and was nearly sent sprawling to the ground but was lucky enough to catch her balance. Lowering her head in defeat, she continued on through the ravaged streets of Tavark trying desperately to tune out the pleas and cries resounding around her.

For the first time in her life she found herself praying to the gods long felled.

 

[Asmodeus]

Tavark

"It's Eimund." Dion murmured over his shoulder as he, Ture and Amara were led in gauntlet with the other civilians. Among their number shuffled old shopkeepers, stablehands, smiths and farmers. Ture saw the others of his company, coaxed from hiding like himself. The street was being emptied, and for every ten who complied there was one who had not - a body bleeding a doorway, a pincushion of crossbow bolts, a bed stained dark and empty.

"Eimund? He's alive?" Ture stumbled and received a shove from a raider. The invaders were flanking the civilians and keeping their pace up.

"The sea spat him up, eh?" Amara kept her eyes lowered as they passed the Frozen Elk tavern. Beer kegs were being ransacked and the floor was slick with blood.

"They promised me your lives," Dion caught up with another of his apprentices, peeled off his cloak, and draped it around the boy's shoulders as they moved. "They're here to resupply. That means we'll be fixing armour, tailoring clothes, cobbling boots. Just keep your heads down and do what they say."

"If I wanted to be a seamstress, I'd have b--" Amara was cut off by Ture with a hushing sound. The procession was led inside a grain store - a stone and wooden warehouse at the centre of town. As each prisoner went in, a raider came out bearing crates or barrels. The food stock was being emptied. The people were shoved inside to bare walls and vacant spaces in the dust.

Ture's arms were grabbed and Dion held at swordpoint. There was a clunk as metal pressed tight to the avian's ankle. A diving weight, hewn stone on a length of chain, now kept him grounded. Meanwhile Amara heard a scream behind her. A washer woman, no older than her, had been spotted for her pretty curls and wrenched from the line. She was pulled away by two raiders, back into the street and to some darker fate. It was a near miss for the huntress.

With kicks and shoves the trio were herded through the warehouse and made to sit against the stone wall. A hundred, maybe more, would be corralled here with them... for as long as it took for the invaders to drink their fill.

"Drop your weapons here!" shouted one of the raiders, who pointed to a pig's trough in the centre of the room. The prisoners were ordered to disarm.

Tavark

The watchman moved quickly, and with each several step glanced back at the thing that followed him. A lantern trembled in his off-hand. Behind him, the sorcerer was a specter of alien grace, and seemed to sicken the air with his presence. The long skirts of his robe dragged like seaweed, erasing his footprints as if he was not here. A ghost. A dark spirit in service to Eimund.

"Just a little further." The watchman's breath misted with his fear. If he could just keeping talking, perhaps it would break the spell this creature was casting, and save his soul from darkness.

The hooded follower said nothing. While Eimund and his men had made their motives clear, this one had not. He moved with a purpose purer than gluttony, more intricate than lust, and darker than greed. The short walk to the slaughterhouse was a terrifying one, in which the watchman thought his life was spent. But with relief he reached the door and placed his hand upon it.

"It came with the south storm. The Hornscar and Redwood families lured it to the ground. Twenty men were lost."

The sorcerer examined the height and width of the slaughterhouse, the dawn light never painting more than nose and cheekbones in the shadow of his hood. "Open it."

"We chained it but..." The watchman hesitated. Though he had been among the first to surrender to the enemy at the gates, he was in no doubt of their menace. His life would be forfeit if he let harm befall Eimund's sorcerer. "It has the fury of winter, my lord."

The eyeless stare of the sorcerer came upon him. "I am protected by God."

There was no arguing with that. The line was delivered with such conviction that the watchman's hand reacted before his mind did. Perhaps a puppetry of magic. He dared not think it. Hauling up the bar of the slaughterhouse door, he stepped back and held the lantern high for the other man, who stepped to the threshold and beheld the prize within.

​

Beneath his hood, the sorcerer smiled.

"Magnificent."

 

[Silvir]

Eydis, Arriving at Barvelle, #CAE1FF

Well this was a rare sight. Looking down at the snow filled with tracks leading straight to a hidden entrance of Barvelle. A cloaked figure crouched down and held out a hand, lightly touching the snow around the foot prints. They were carrying wounded 'The Aldus caravan?'

Standing up, a pure white furry tail moved behind the cloaked woman. This was a bit embarrassing. Spending all that time looking for them; and here they show up outside the city instead?

With a low sigh she began moving at a walking pace that turned into a hurried run. Her hood fell back as she slid down a hill taking a shortcut. Letting out her long white hair; the cold crisp air causing her white furry ears turn backwards from the rush of the wind. It didn't take long at all to reach the entrance. Where her hurry caused the guards a moment of alarm. Luckily she was recognised fairly quick.
"The tracks outside" she said over her havy breath "Aldus caravan?"

-"Yes that and..." The young fox girl turned to the guard speaking. Interupting him."Where are they resting?"
She was already moving again before the guard had finished speaking. Judging by their eyes however they seemed to understand.
The fatigue from the long travel was comming back now though. More people had survived and was now safe and sound in this city. There was only one uncertain part left. Who was dead and who had survived. The high pulse wasn't just from running when the anthro girl finally found the entrance to where they were.

 

[Lord Wraith]

M'VAE DON - TAVARK, blue

he men M'Vae had given chase to stopped and turned to face him. Neither were heavily armored, though both carried a blade, the one holding the woman in particular had quite a fine blade that M'Vae wouldn't mind taking off his cold dead body. A grin slid across M'Vae's mouth behind his long teeth as he sheathed his blades and balled his paws into fists taking a step towards the trio.

"You're not going anywhere. You're going to hand the woman over to me and surrender. Should you refuse, you may as well lay down and die now because I'll rip your throats out before you can scream." M'Vae opened his fists, the long retractable claws popping into place as he took another step forward. Smiling, M'Vae continued to taunt the other two."The woman was never in any real danger, she may have resisted at first but once she saw how good these men are for the new Tavark, she would have come to accept him, possibly even love him. Perhaps she could have called him her husband, but now we'll never know since you took his life and left him to bleed out in the streets and for what? You must have desires yourself, needs to be fulfilled are you really any better that you can place judgement on those who simply have the courage to act on their desires?"

Looking at the other man who was holding the sword towards himself, M'Vae laughed a chortled roar errupting from his throat. "Am I a dog that you approach me with a stick? You'll need more than a butter knife if you think you're going to take me down." Looking back and forth between the two, M'Vae halted himself two arm lengths away from them, it was more than enough to allow him to evade the first blow of a blade but short enough to allow him to lung towards them. M'Vae flexed his muscles, an audible crack echoing as he popped his neck and shoulders.

"One last chance to surrender or run boys, M'Vae dropped into a crouching stance as he stretched out his claws. "What'll it be?

 

[Peregrine]

ETHELWEN-BARVELLE, royalblue

Ethelwen whirled about suddenly at the unexpected voice of the guard, his ears laying back in a mixture of surprise or fear. Instantly countless excuses and explanations began to run through his head. Sure, eavesdropping was perhaps not the politest thing he could have done while waiting for permission to enter, but it was far from the worst.

It took him only a split second longer to recognize Wolfsin, who was not a regular guard, but the man who had been selected to guard the Archon. This somewhat eased the tight knot that had formed in the pit of his stomach. He was concerned with security, not guarding secrets.

And so he was perfectly ready to launch into one of the many explanations that popped into his head to explain why exactly he was listening at the door, as well as give a very valid reason for what he was doing here in the first place, but Wolfsin didn't even give him a chance to start speaking. The man imediately jumped to threatening Ethelwen's life, which lowered him several points in the Anima's already low estimation.

However, he was quite taken by surprise when the man suddenly collapsed in the middle of the corridor, curling into a small ball, making clear noises of pain. He hadn't done anything, and the guards who had been standing in teh corridor would certainly be coming to investigate. This was not the kind of situation he wanted to be in.

And so, after making sure that the irritating man had no further instructions to give him, while the last whispers of his please were still floating in the air, Ethelwen took off quickly down the corridor, jumping over Wolfsin's huddled form. A part of him felt a small inclination to delay, to take a look around the man's room, just as a form of retaliation for jumping straight to threats before he even knew why Ethelwen was there, but that would do nothing but satisfy his own wounded pride, so recently bolstered by the reactions of the guards.

Wolfsin's rooms were sparse enough that it didn't take Ethelwen much time to locate the vial. He scooped it up carefully, having no desire to drop and break the vial, and spill whatever this strange substance was all over the floor.

Some bodyguard they had chosen for Lady Eirene. What did they really know about him? It wasn't as though the man was a nocturne. Apparently he had some sort of strange affliction, and he also did not have the sense to keep this antidote, or whatever it was, with him at all times. What if he were to collapse so suddenly when the Archon was actually being threatened?

Shoving all these thoughts into the back of his mind to be thought over or addressed at a later date, Ethewlen quickly returned to the place that he had left Wolfsin. Ethelwen crouched down next to him, bodily hauling the man into something resembling a sitting position. He carefully unstoppered the little bottle, and pressed the vial against Wolfsin's lips.

 

[Asmodeus]

Southern outskirts of Tavark

An arrow flew straight and caught the beast in the shoulder, a stinging hit that slowed its charge. The archer responsible swept low and pulled his comrade clear, while from the blindside two more drove spears into the monster's calf. The Gargodel ice troll was mad with hunger and easy prey to the tactic.

Melting snowflake - a pattern by which a larger beast was blindsided and harried, never given a clear target. The men of Tavark had used it well this morning.

In a burst of Aux light, a dagger man landed on the creature's shoulders, plunging blades beneath the bone-ridge of its skull. The troll roared and sent the man hurtling into the treeline. But as it turned a mage stood ready. Hands raised with eldritch shackles, the caster willed the blades towards him, pulling them through the monster's body with his mind alone. The blades exited the chest in a bloody rupture and the creature slumped forward.

On cue, a longspear plunged into its side. The beast rolled, pawing weakly at the attacker; but even this condemned it. An iron chain came hard across it throat, and arcane fire leapt from the two men holding each side of it. In a burning constriction, the troll's head was seared from its body, and the corpse crashed down in the snow.

"The kill was yours, Turrell," shouted the sergeant as he closed upon the beast. "Hang its skull in the hall of your fathers."

Behind them, a great stretch of snow and broken trees marked the passage of the storm. Three days had passed since it struck, yet still the powder lay heavy, with only the tips of shattered homes and frozen farmhouses peaking above. Eight villages had suffered from the Ghoul Sage's wrath, and each was found in varying states of misery. Fully three quarters of the Tavark army were engaged in relief efforts - pulling bodies from the snow, corralling livestock, directing evacuees to Greyhand Keep. The anima had proven indispensable in locating those beneath the snow, while avian scouts mapped out the extent of the devastation. By night the nocturnes followed blood trails while draken kept the fires stoked. All means and morals had come together in this operation, and rewards were measured in the lives they saved.

And yet the greatest task was keeping predators at bay. Like flies to the dead, the ice trolls and sabre bears were drawn by disaster's scent. They came for those buried, for foodstores devastated and livestock orphaned. A perimeter had been set around the relief zone, with kill teams of Tavarkian hunters fighting a running battle with nature.

The squad drew their swords as one. Something else was coming, rustling through the treeline ahead. Another troll? They fell into formation, spreading wide so they could engage at separate angles. No man spoke but in their instincts. They were ready. The sergeant drew back his bowstring and prepared to fire.

A second beast broke the treeline and erupted through the snow. The sergeant dropped his bow and yelled, "Stand down!". And as one the squad sheathed weapons and advanced upon the panicking horse. "Woah.. woah there!" The sergeant got the reins of Ssirm and pulled the animal to heel, while other soldiers caught the body dropping from the saddle. They laid the rider down upon a cloak of fur.

"It's Milah, the horse breeder. Gonryn's daughter."

One man fed water between the girl's lips, while another circled his hand around the crossbow bolt embedded in her shoulder. "Two legions in - it's fresh."

The sergeant twisted on his knees. "Runner! Alert General Horriksson." And as a man peeled away to sprint for the snowbound village, an avian circled overhead. "Healer!" the sergeant shouted up to the man, his voice amplified by the echo of his Aux. "Azriel, we need you!"

 

[Noctis the Devious]

Tavark

Events felt as if they were moving at a dizzying speed for Amara as she was pushed and shoved into one of Tavark's grain stores and her heart fell upon witnessing the shadow army - a nickname she had inwardly coined them - completely emptying out their stocks. By the time they were left in grim peace, there would be nothing left for them to survive off of! Another whirlwind of events followed and she watched helplessly as Ture was grounded by a weight and a girl she couldn't claim to know on a personal level but had chatted with on occasion be dragged off to a fate worse than what she herself was being condemned to. Another wave of fear, this time accompanied by nausea, swept over her and she fought off a shiver. Tang, on the other hand, was uncontrollably shaking against her neck, curled up against her trying to make himself as small as possible. She wanted to console him but knew her efforts would be in vain.

They were stuffed in the space left by their stocks like herded cattle and were then ordered to cough up their weapons. Amara's blood chilled at the thought of being unarmed, defenseless, vulnerable in a situation like this. She swallowed thickly and waited patiently for her turn before stepping up and reluctantly removing her weapons. First to go was her knife, a tool of various uses. The hilt showed the most wear and reflected its age while the blade shown with the utmost care save for a few knicks. Then there was her tomahawk, a tool she saved up for, for months all because her younger self thought it'd be cool to wield an ax of any kind. Hell, she still felt a strange sense of awesomeness every time she was able to chuck the weapon at any given target. She couldn't claim to be real accurate with it but she had her moments. The last weapon to clatter against the growing pile was her quiver and bow, items she had received from her parents on her last birthday. Without the comforting weight on her back, she felt a crippling wave of helplessness and even loneliness overcome her. It was nearly enough to reduce her to tears. Instead, she clenched her hands in even tighter fists and bit her tongue in an attempt to distract herself from the emotions wrecking her on the inside. Crying wouldn't solve anything. Crying would just show how pathetic she really was.

The now disarmed huntress turned away from the pile thinking she was done only to be caught by her arm. She spun on her heels and glared at the offender. "Hold'n girly, w'at's that on yer belt there?" Amara's blue-grey eyes widened. She wasn't sure how to react, only watched as the man - she refused to see him as anything else other than a stranger - reached around her and began tugging at the leather pouches she kept on her person at all times. There were several of them, each containing extra materials for her bow, items to help keep her weapons in tiptop shape, and other such things that might aid her on a hunt, all save for one pouch in particular and could do nothing but watch as they were all taken away from her. "Back'n line!" the man growled, shoving her away once he confiscated the last of her immediate belongings. He seemed to be aiming more towards knocking off her feet than trying to get her to move faster and the bastard succeeded. Amara landed on her stomach and palms with a soft 'omph'. She quickly scrambled to her feet but her cheeks were already burning with humiliation.

 

[OverCast]

Tavark

The new Tavark? The idea, although proposed by his current enemy, seemed quite interesting. He thought it over for a second. He had come this far with a man who had already racked up his body count to three, and in the process attracted a giant Anima attacker. Perhaps Darin was not a person that Durael should associate himself with. Revenge quests almost always end in failure, and death, for the antagonist as well as his accomplices. Durael could also stay and fight, as he had originally planned, with the odds in their favor, two versus one. He had no more time to think.

His eyes met the eyes of the Anima once again, and Durael smirked. Standing up to casual stance, he pressed his readied sword to the back of Darin's neck, who he was standing behind. "If you much as blink the wrong way, I will put this sword through your spine." Durael's voice was steadied again. This was his only smart decision. He eyed the Anima again. "I would love to speak with whoever is running this gathering, friend." He said this in a non-threatening way, his voice almost signifying for him his want to join the opposing team. He applied pressure on his blade, reminding Darin of his threat. While he had no intention of hurting the girl, he knew that Darin was dangerous enough with the blade, as he had shown Durael through his previous victims.

 

[Wolfsin]

Barvelle

The internal struggle seemed to consume all of Wolfsin's mind and force him to remain still as his body shut down. lastly he could see the Anima, the look of resent, almost a bit of hatred played on the creatures face. He had tried to explain why he had to be on guard like this, maybe more so to himself, but he would never of been so drastic to hurt the creature if it were doing nothing wrong. Those things were irrelevant at this point however, and Wolf had to focus on staying awake, His will had to be stronger even if this would not be the true time for caution he still had to remind himself of the disaster.

The Anima had gone, quickly, and for a second Wolfsin thought that his threats, however empty they were were going to be what ruined him. He truly hated this affliction, a weakness that tore him down and kept from living normally, and now in the case the cat was an assassin Eirene could have already been dead, and he would still be writhing here helpless. " The Antidote!" he called to one of the nearby guards who tried their best to make sense of it, hell with them holding his life in their hands he was more than screwed. it never was this bad before, the burn would always be there but for it to leave him absolutely crippled, and powerless... he had never expected this.

Wolfsin's will started to give out, his vision hazed up; but just before it did he saw the Anima rear around the corner, soon his body was lifted, which might of required quite a bit of strength,a nd he could taste the vile substance sliding down his throat... It would take a moment, he would have to drink it all but a few minutes passed of silence and finally the golden hues of the man released from darkness and he could see the Anima.

"Thank you."

It only seemed the correct thing to say at that point, and he meant it honestly. The Anima had proven a kind heart resided within him, and he was thankful to have come in contact. "I am sorry... for being rude earlier, things are tasking, and where I come from; combat is very frequent, I suppose im still adjusting to modern Politics and the ways of these people,a nd I was only trying to do my job the way i knew to do it." This stemmed from the realization that the Anima had already gained a very harsh perspective on him, not only due to their encounter, but also now due to his weakness... hell after the Elders heard of this it would be a miracle if he kept the job. "Anyways I can't see you doing anything to harm the Archon... err just try to wait pateiently as she finishes her buisiness with her current guest."

Having seemingly recovered almost instantaneously Wolfsin stood at the door once again arms folded and he closed his eyes as he waited. "Ill not be a bother to you anymore so don't mind me here."

 

[Diana]

BARVELLE, royalblue

Kaustir.

Eirene had known the moment the foreigner entered through the Barvelle gates. The Secret City was a secret for good reason. Now it seemed a new era was coming. One where Barvelle was no longer a haven for scholars and students. Where the rest of the world would soon come in and it would all descend to politics and bureaucracy. If she were honest with herself, that time had already long since come and gone. The more time she spent within the Tower walls micromanaging the tiniest of details, the less connected she felt with original dream. Uniting and taming the world.

The world.

Mahavir was a man molded by his nation. He bowed to power without question, his fear and awe written in to his every feature. Eirene found the man just as curious as the message he delivered. What his master, Gulzar Ganguly, wanted was extraordinary. Foolish, but extraordinary. Could she extend her reach outside of Pegulis..?

"Thank you, Mahavir. I will take this under consideration and give you a response. Feel free to enjoy your time here in Barvelle. Our city is unique, you might find it refreshing." With that she dismissed the man, just in time for her elderly steward to step to her side and mumble in her ear. The lost expedition caravan had arrived, it's people stricken with illness. More interest, was a group had come from Aldus, many injured from an avalanche. This included the very famous Aldus Captain of the Guard. What she did not mention was the exchange between Ethelwen and Wolfsin outside the doors. That tidbit she withheld.

Eirene rose from her seat, excusing herself. Grand meetings in stuffy chambers were fine for kings and queens, but Eirene didn't care for the ceremony. She would go to the Aldus Captain and her people herself, then pay a visit to the sick. Information came less diluted when it was tapped from the source.

When she stepped out, there was Wolfsin sitting right were she expected him to be and Ethelwen looking vexed. Eirene looked between the two of them curiously, her wolf aux padding up behind her and tilting it's head with that same wondering expression. She didn't comment on it however, instead turning a smile to Ethelwen and gesturing at the strong in his hands. "I assume that is for me? Walk. I have somewhere I need to be." She started down the hall, fully expecting the others to keep up.

"You were right. He does have a great weakness."

"Yes. It's all going perfectly."

"But I don't understand. Why did we give her a guardian at all if we're just going to-"

"Shh. You will see..."

BARVELLE, chocolate

"Son of a heifer." Jules was in the middle of dinner, chewing on a leg that she thought was turkey but tasted more like a goat's ass. Her mother was never the greatest of chefs, and it was telling how long these left overs had been stashed, unwanted and ignored. When she heard the knock on the door, she was almost glad for the interruption. Jules wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stalked across the room to fling it open. Expecting to see someone calling after her parents.

Instead she got an eyeful of Jalidin.

"Were you talking to my parents?" Weird that he would show up there, just when she was thinking about him. He had a real annoying habit of doing that, even back when they were kids. Just popping out like he was summoned. Of course, he never got summoned when she actually WANTED to see him.

She made sure to behave like she didn't want to see him now, too.

"I guess I should invite you in." she muttered, tugging at the silver aux on her ear. At his, fluttering about like a butterfly, she gave a warm smile. "And I suppose it's customary to ask how you've been, and hear about all your grand adventures." There might have been a hint of jealousy there in the comment. Jules stepped aside to let him in and closed the door. "I just got back in town today. It seems like a lot has been going on in Pegulis lately."

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

When Darin hoped for support he only got the feel of cold steel to the back of his neck. His heart raced and the words of betrayal pouring from the mouth of his companion. That's what he got for trusting someone so easily. Telra was deathly still, her light dim in despair as Darin lay at the mercy of the Anima and the man behind him. He had come so far for justice and had fallen short just shy of his goal.

His eyes shifted to the poor woman huddled in the against the wall. Her arms wrapped secretly around her naked flesh as her shoulders rocked with the sobs of her fate. Her face was buried in her knees as she seemed to be wishing an end to this nightmare. The face of his love replaced her and the shouts of weakness and failure echoed in his head.

"You couldn't save me. What makes you think you could save anyone?"

"You've failed yet again, Darin, to save someone who needed your strength."

His head lower as his shield fell from his arm and rang as it hit the ground. The sobbing of the woman increased as she noticed her savior's surrender. What could he do to help her? Either way death would be coming for him. Did he die as a captive or a paladin who tried to carry out his duties? His heart drummed against his ribs, threatening to explode from behind them. His mind raced with possibilities and Telra became his only option. Perhaps she could flare bright enough that he could change his odds? There was only one way to find out.

His eyes locked with Telra and he felt the peace of her understanding. Telra flared suddenly and as brightly as she could. Just enough, ever so quickly that Darin was able to draw his blade and move, but not enough to escape injury.

The blade at the back his neck bit into the side of his neck as he tried to get out of harm's way. His free hand flew to his neck as crimson flowed freely from the wound. Despite the will to live, to fight on, Darin found himself crashing into the wall. His sword fell weakly from his grasp as he slid down the wall and to the ground. The screams from the woman he had failed, even now, could barely be heard over the rush of pain as it settled over his body. The front of his shirt quickly soaked with the life that drained from his neck.

Was this death? Was this his end and the failure of his mission? His eyes darted from man to Anima as he watched for their next moves. Surely he was dying, they would take that woman back to the cruel fate that had been dealt to her and he would leave this world never providing justice to the wife he had lost.

 

[Navras]

Aldus - Azareth Hunting

Dusty old books and relics from the past - any scholars bread and butter. So much history was kept in books and written on scrolls, so much to go through. Most fortunate, then that Azareth had absolutely nothing but time on his hands. Time and focus, that was all that he needed now. The newly appointed scholar sat the book he was looking through back on its shelf and pulled out another. It was useless to him, some old relic about the founding of the city guards of the three major cities in Pegulis - Aldus, Bravelle and Tarvark - boring, boring, boring.

Beneath the thin veneer of cloth that covered his head, Azareth's eyes dashed over the printed words, searching for key phrases, for hints, for symbols. His fingers danced over the pages, pushing them aside. He was one of the few who were in the city council's library, and he was the only one even close to his section of looking. Mordran leaned up against the bookshelf while he went on reading. He'd been in there practically none stop over the last three days - he hadn't even taken time to go to the Rusty Tankard to sort out his room or to even eat, or at least no one had seen him eat. All of his time thus far had been spent pouring through these books, looking for that which was important.

"Azareth, the council wishes to see you."

The book snapped shut and the court scholar's head turned to the ginger haired boy - Nathaniel, the personal assistant to one of the council members; though he forgot which one. A bandaged hand set the ancient book down and took a hold of his staff. "Let them know that I'll be there shortly," he said quietly. They were in a library after all, no need to shout.

The boy nodded and bit his lower lip, a nervous habit of his. He always felt nervous when he was around the black cloaked scholar, but he couldn't think why... Taking a small step in between the book shelves, Nathaniel looked around briefly to make sure no one was looking his way before looking back at Azareth, whispering, "I also have word on that... private matter you tasked me with." Reaching into his shirt, the boy pulled out a piece of paper and held it out for the scholar to take. Azareth seemed to twitch and almost hum as if with excitement, despite standing perfectly still and silent. He reached out and took the piece of paper, unfolding it and giving it a quick look over before tucking it away inside of his cloak. "Good boy. Now, go tell our masters that I'll be with them soon."

Glad to have been given permission to go, Nathaneil turned and ran out of the book cases towards the door of the library. Azareth walked out behind him and made his own leisurely way towards the door. It wouldn't do to keep the council waiting, after all...

 

[Astille]

Tavark, Blue

Dark Grey feathers rustled in the wind, as eyes of a lighter grey overlooked the scene below. The coordination and skill of the hunters was beyond impressive! Azriel couldn't imagine having a talent such as that one, though his skills were, in their own way, equally useful. That was, of course, the reason he was here. What he had intended to be a short trip to drop off some supplies and gather resources had turned into an adventure of several days. A lack of manpower lead to Azriel being recruited as a scout and a healer to aid in the efforts of the Tavarkian Army. And though he wasn't a resident of Tavark, he couldn't refuse.

The work wasn't painfully difficult. It wasn't as if Azriel was needed to hunt, or protect the masses. His usefulness lie mostly in his wings. He took in their dark color, noting it from his peripheral vision, and released a sigh. It would be time again soon. Hopefully he would be able to last until then... No sooner than the thought hit his mind, however, was his name called out from the ground below. It was one of the Sergeants! It was rare that Azriel was needed on the ground. He quickly dipped into a nosedive, All four wings spreading out in all of their dark Magnificence as he leveled out just above the ground. By the time his feet hit the ground, he saw the reason he had been summoned.

Azriel took no time to await words from the Sergeant. He was already examining the girl. Human; Reasonably young and strong. She had severe cuts, perhaps bite marks? On her thigh and arm. An arrow sticking out of her shoulder. Blood also flowed from her scalp, but from his current distance, Azriel was unable to see the actual injury. He walked over to the girl slowly, already digging into one of the pouches he carried. None of her injuries would be fatal, so long as he could stop the bleeding quickly. He pulled out a canteen from his satchel. It contained water, and a simple mixture of herbs to fight potential infection, as well as ease some of the pain.

"You're going to be alright." He told the girl, though he was unsure if she would hear him or not. Consciousness was often a fading thing in her condition. He hadn't heard the Sergeant, when he said her name, so he was unsure what to call her. But he wanted to put her at ease as best he could before he got started. He also had a warning for her. "This solution is going to dull the pain a bit. But please don't move." Pain was difficult to bare, but it was also a warning to the body. People often made the mistake, when their pain was taken away, of overestimating their strength, and ending up in worse condition. The most dangerous of her injuries was the one on her thigh. It would be very easy for her to bleed out if her femoral artery had been severed. He quickly cleaned the cut with the water from his canteen, and proceeded to wrap her leg. Sometimes simple First Aid was just as important as any healing ability.

The arrow was probably the least threatening of her injuries. A single puncturewound from an arrow was seldom serious unless it hit a vital point. The most important part would be removing the arrow properly. Trying to rip it out carelessly could result in the arrowhead staying behind inside the wound, which could cause serious infections. This was going to hurt a bit. Azriel pulled a sanitary rag from his bag, folded it over several times, and presented it to the woman. "You may want to bite down on this. He had no form of anesthetic to give the woman. He hadn't expected all of this when he came to Tavark. He then slowly and carefully began removing the arrow, careful to do as little damage to the tissue as possible. The process took nearly a minute, but such a thing could feel like eternities. Then, as he had done with her leg, he cleaned and bandaged her shoulder.

He followed the same procedure in treating her arm before examining her scalp closely. From what he could tell, it was a simple flesh wound. Not nearly as severe as her other injuries, thank the Gods. It would take little more than a simple cleaning, a little medicine, and a bandage, and her head would be fine. By the time this had been done, however, the bandage on the woman's leg would be soaked a crimson red color. Placing his hand on her Thigh, over the bandage, He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. As he focused on closing the wound, a green light would begin to glow around his hands. He would remain like this for several minutes, and while it seemed to be helping, it also had it's effects on him. The more energy he poured into healing the woman's leg, the darker the feathers on his wings seemed to become, as if the color was being drained directly from them, and into the injury that was now considerably smaller. Once Azriel was convinced that the woman was no longer in danger of bleeding out, he exhaled deeply, and opened his eyes. He instantly removed the bloody bandage from the woman's leg and applied a clean one before giving a much smaller treatment to her arm and head.

He then turned to the Sergeant with a tired smile. "I'll stay and keep an eye on her for a while. She's going to need to rest." His words spoke of the woman's rest, but his eyes spoke of his own. He was clearly exhausted. It would seem odd. Azriel was well known and respected Healer throughout Pegulis. Such a job shouldn't have had such a heavy effect on him, should it? Nonetheless, the Avian took a seat next to the woman, and released one more heavy sigh, diggging through his things for something that may grant him a bit of extra energy...

 

[Asmodeus]

Tavark

We, the Orden Brotherhood, swear fealty to the Light.

In the godless land we yet remember.​

The trackers arrived as Darin's life bled out. Their boots were his last vision, paused at the edge of the blood pool, where red eclipsed the white.

One man held a snarling hunting dog at bay, while the second drew up beside M'Vae. They looked down at Darin's body, twitching with its final motions; then up at Durael, who held the killing blade. The mage's face could not be read. If there was surprise or intention on his features, he did not show it.

"You're a long way from home, Kaustiran." The tracker was Anima, a wolf snout protruding and flashing teeth. "You here to kill Northmen?"

Durael lowered his blade, while M'Vae spoke for him. "He did us a favour."

The tracker picked amongst Darin's shield and blade, then kicked the man over. The paladin's eyes flickered, his last breaths rasping out. "This man killed Ulwin's brother. And if I know Ulwin..." His voice was a feral growl. "There's only one thing that will appease his rage."

The raider reached for the girl, but she had seen it coming. Whatever terror had frozen her had washed with Darin's blood, and in its place came raw survival. Women of Pegulis were no fools. She pushed up and trod across the blood pool, pressing herself to M'Vae. Her arms wrapped round him, her lips met his. With adrenal breaths she kissed and kissed till no doubt remained.

She was his. She had given herself to the one man who spoke of mercy.

The tracker laughed at the spectacle. "A willing prize. The gods smile, Jailbird." He wrenched the woman from the embrace and pushed her down the alley to his comrade. "She belongs to the hunter. Take her to the Guildhall to clean up. None touches her but this man." He slapped M'Vae's shoulder.

The woman was led away, a fur cape draped upon her shoulders. She would live, and suffer only the presence of M'Vae in her chamber that night. As she departed the tracker seized the leg of the dying Paladin and looked to M'Vae. "I'll clear the guts. Take this man to Eimund." He nodded to Durael, then smiled back at the hunter. "Only then shall you enjoy your woman."

A stream of red cut through the snow as Darin was dragged away.

When nations crumble, the walls shall rest upon us.

When justice wanes, our blades are tempered strong.​

Telra rested on Darin's chest, a fading light, barely a dust-speck as his life bled out. Whiteness overhead, a heaven-glare of daybreak skies; and down below was fire, infernal burning. The paladin's skin was chafed on ice as they dragged him through the street. His limbs useless meat, hanging to his core.

Funny thing, to watch your soul grow quiet.

Water hit his brow. A morning rain? Grey clouds were faces, bearded and incensed. They spat on him. The men he had killed were kin and comrade to these gargoyles. A boot heel shattered his ribs. His Aux went dull. Now with his neck wound the chest became a hollow space, fit for blood and dropping tissue. He was a hollow man, a carcass gutted.

The sky did not receive him, but instead he went below, dropping into darkness. A soft landing. Telra fell away. His soul was lost. He lay upon a bed of flesh, arms and legs entangled with his own, faces in the periphery. Flies came in with the air and crawled within his skull.

A mass grave.

Then a harder rain. Whale oil - he knew its smell - fell in lumps and spatters, slapping on the skin it found. His face was covered, his vision drowned. In the dying light he saw the man above, the bucket put aside, the torch ignited. The raider stood and drummed his chest: a salute. Were there ones in here he loved? Was Darin loved...? ...did his soulmate wait for him... beyond the flames... beyond the suffocating agonies of a world unfair...?

The man lifted the torch, turned his head, nodded, and dropped it.

Till ice and fire reclaim us, may we tread the higher path

And see the day when Light is come again.​

"Darin."

A beast had swallowed him. Why else was he lying in its belly? Fur encased the paladin and pulled limbs tight to his body, tucking his toes, its edges wet with his breath. He shifted and his bones squeaked. No... bed springs... The mattress yielded, and the fur blanket followed as he spread his arms. Above him, a sloping ceiling of thatch and pine wood. Its scent was sharp, and blended with the candle fumes.

His name was spoken. Darin turned his face, feeling pricks of agony in the back of his neck. It felt like he was sewn to the pillow and tearing through the stitches.

Across the room, by a window framing snowbound streets, a man sat. His robe was mouldering, torn and sodden. It clung like sealskin and seaweed. Beneath the hood a study in disease, grey-green in candlelight. He held a blade. Darin's blade...

... his own blade.

"Suvius..."

Before him was a vestige of the squire he knew, that boyish face given over to decay. In the passing of two years he had grown near-unrecognisable - not that Dalrin had ever studied the youth before, as wine was poured at the feasting table, as horses were shooed and tunics laundered. Suvius had been a phantom even then - overlooked, neglected - his face dim beside the features of Darin's brothers, which flashed so often in his nightmares.

"The tracker brought me a blade." Suvius turned the dagger in the light. It was freshly polished - as gleaming as it was when Dalrin received it from the Meister of Barvelle. "I thought to see my father in that grave."

The words were melancholy, a poetic drone, as if he was a man in mourning for his own life. The sorcerer's eyes met the paladin's. "I wished to find you in a better place, Sir Darin. Lain with paladins. I wished your body had burned with the Brothers in the abbey. No Orden Knight should be found like this."

Something touched Darin's neck. He thought it was his hair, slick with fever sweat. But as it moved it found thicker, more turgid shape. It moved of its own accord, sentience along its length. He raised one frail hand and shuddered in silent horror. There was a tentacle against the pillow. It curled as he touched it, and took its place beside the others at the base of his skull. And with each moist adjustment he felt his neck wound ache.

There was a creature attached to him.

Suvius noted the terror like a passing thing, and looked to the window, watching crows on the blood-flecked streets. "The Light was not with Eimund. His people could not... continue my training. I've forgotten so much, Darin... so little white magic remains. The basest cantrips. Enough to save you." A memory struck him and he gave a sickly laugh. "Such miracles we saw back then!"

His glazed eyes watched the creature shift on Darin's neck. "No dues to pay..."

The blade was halfway through his palm. He noticed his blood dripping and frowned at the wound. From his throat came a broken note of sadness. "Where is your armour, my lord? A knight... cannot be... without his armour?"

 

[4everDifferent]

Tavark

Every inch of Darin's weakened body shivered with disgust and anger. Here, not even a stones through from him was the man who drove that dagger through Selphia's heart. Her life flowed from her that moment and there was nothing he could have done to save her. Now Suvius spoke of the order as if he had some ounce of respect for the brothers and sisters he betrayed. Darin tried to raise only to be reminded of his injuries and sent right back to the bed with a grunt.

Telra flickered above his chest, just as weak as he, but ever present. For the situation he had found himself in, that was one thing he could find some comfort in. Telra was silent but her flickering light promised recovery.

Once again he turned back to Suvius and through gritted teeth and behind wrathful orbs he spoke the one question that had always plagued him, ignoring the betrayer's question about his armor. It was not why did he betray the order or who helped him to accomplish such a feat. The only question he had was...

"Why did you murder Selphia? Why did you take my wife away from me?" A tear rolled down his angered face. He would have his vengeance, but now, he was far to weak to move.

 

[Asmodeus]

Tavark

Suvius cocked his head beneath the hood, and in reflection one tear cut down his cancerous cheek. The sorcerer was like a strange fish making imitation. He watched the paladin; he mimicked him.

"Yes... I suppose... I suppose you'd think that."

His cut hand pawed his cloak, smearing blood across the wetness. He seemed uneasy in one moment and sadistic in the next, throwing glances to the street, where the slaughterhouses stood.

"Was I there, Sir... did I climb the farm wall that night?" He looked back with unblinking eyes. "Did I... straddle... her in the bed... and press this.. little blade... press it through the breast... through through.. till she opened her eyes... and then... let me... she opened up and gave me... her blood..." He swayed with the thought of it and leant forward in the chair. The question now seemed genuine. "Was that me, my lord?"

Silence held. Beyond the attic room the sound of metal clanged. Walls were being fortified, houses boarded, barricades drawn across the streets. A shadow army of raiders and convicts moved with singular purpose to make the city their own.

Suvius brought his legs up to huddle on the seat. "Why do a thing, Sir... why do a thing? The books never said."

Clarity seized him. He looked straight at Darin and pointed him out with his ring finger, a strange claw-like gesture as he intoned. "Yooooou... should have died with the others! Made me lie. Made me a liar. Said to Eimund you were burning in the abbey, so he wouldn't sail away. Paladins shouldn't lie, my lord."

The creature fused with Darin's neck shifted again, one tendril snaking up beneath his hairline, another between his shoulderblades. It was trying to find the best spot. Suckers kissed along the edge of the sword-incision, keeping sealed the mortal wound.

Suvius rose and howled, his voice sending black veins through the walls. "WHY KILL HER WHEN I WANTED YOU TO BURN WITH THE OTHERS?"